Two Shots in the Dark
by ladylizard424
Summary: With Dumbledore dead & Harry Potter missing in action, Minister Rufus Scrimgeour has at best a loose grip on the reins. The entire world is poised on the edge of catastrophe. All it takes is two shots in the dark to send it toppling. *AU, set in DH*
1. Chapter 1

**Two Shots in the Dark**

**Chapter 1-The Woes of the Minister**

**Summary:** Politics fail, intrigue spreads, and a near little bit of groveling ensues in the Ministry as a disaster averted throws the Wizarding World into chaos. Now the Minister needs to pass a teeny proposal that could have giant effects, and it is once again Kingsley Shacklebolt who saves the day.

* * *

Men and women clad ominously in black formal dress robes filed into the meeting room and began to take their seats.

The sole man already seated alone at the far end of the table was buried in a mass of paper reports. He sat, avidly reading one, and was growing more and more aggravated with every word. He took only vague notice of the new arrivals.

"Where is Potter when you really need him?" growled the Minister of Magic savagely, raking his hands through his dark hair. It had become streaked with grey from stress in only the few short weeks since he had taken office.

"You will rely on a seventeen-year-old boy to save the Wizarding World, sir?"

That snide remark came from the other end of the table in the meeting room, on the Minister Rufus Scrimgeour's left side. Normally, advisors of that rank were not allowed to speak at all while the Minister held meetings or reviewed his weekly reports. They were only there to take notes.

The reports, which were thick as booklets with unwelcome news, were still scattered in front of Rufus Scrimgeour at the Minister's end of the table. He looked up and sharply surveyed Lyle Peterson, a young Ministry attorney recently promoted to merit a spot in the Minster's advisory. The outspoken and insubordinate Peterson had been irritating Scrimgeour as of late, but the Minister was too preoccupied to rebuke him today.

Kingsley Shacklebolt noticed the Minister's silent glare. "Why not? He has done it countless times before," Kingsley told Peterson dryly.

Kingsley was seated many chairs above Peterson, at the Minister's right side. Scrimgeour was grateful for his support, though he often chose not to acknowledge it out loud lest people think Kingsley was the one in power. It was true Kingsley had pull at the Ministry, and perhaps even more than Scrimgeour himself. People trusted Kingsley and valued his opinions. So that was why Scrimgeour kept him around.

"Yes, but—" Peterson began to protest.

"Desperate times call for a dash of humor, Peterson," Scrimgeour snapped, his temper flaring despite his efforts to control it. "If you do not recognize verbal irony I suggest you take a basic literature course, but please grant me leave to do my job."

Uneasy murmurs disrupted the heavy silence in the meeting room that followed as the Minister's advisors looked at each other, some with apprehension and others with impatience. Certainly the news coming in had not been very happy as of late, but they had never seen the Minister so frazzled before. The absence of Scrimgeour's normally cool manner meant that he was too distraught to continue his charade, his claim that everything was alright with the Wizarding World. This was extraordinarily good news for some of the bigger realists on the Minister's advisory.

"So, Minister, what have you called us all here for?" Kingsley prodded, trying to remind Scrimgeour that he sat before a great deal of influence, and therefore his behavior had to adjust accordingly. He could not run the risk of appearing unprofessional, particularly before _these_ people.

The men and women who were here at his table were the Heads of the core Ministry departments, the executives of essential Wizarding corporations who funded the Ministry, the magical liaisons of particular world governments, the politically involved of the oldest, most loyal Wizarding families (who also funded the Ministry), and the editor of the Daily Prophet.

As he looked around, the Minister could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat. This was why Scrimgeour usually liked to read his weekly reports alone.

But this week, the news in the reports had been leaked to the press without the Ministry's consent. In effect, the entire Wizarding World had found out about the disaster _before_ the Minister of Magic had. And now Rufus Scrimgeour had his entire advisory demanding an explanation of how the Ministry could have ever allowed this to happen. They wanted both confirmation and a course of action, which was more than Scrimgeour could give them at the moment.

But this lot, they were like wolves. They could settle for nothing less than what they demanded. Facing them now would be worse than a press conference.

At a nod of encouragement from Kingsley, Scrimgeour swallowed hard and began to speak. "As you all have surely read in the paper this morning" –and he gave a stiff, unhappy nod of acknowledgment to the editor—"there have been several assassination attempts on high Great Britain Parliamentary officials in the last 24 hours. They were discovered and thankfully thwarted by no magical interference.

"It is widely suspected that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is behind these attempts, _although I did not authorize the printing of that particular theory as the opinion of the Minister_…"—he glared outright at the editor, who shrugged—"In fact, I did not authorize the printing of this story at all," Scrimgeour stated flatly.

It was a vain attempt to direct the blame for the ensuing chaos elsewhere. Scrimgeour already knew that no matter whose fault it was, the Ministry would take the blunt of the blame.

"However," he continued seriously, "because these attempts have been on prominent Muggle officials from the House of Lords, including an archbishop, the Wizarding public is demanding that the Ministry act now to prevent further near-disasters. And quite frankly, I agree."

"The Wizarding World is in chaos over this news," the Head of Magical Control and Regulation commented.

"Which is why I am often prudent about what the media reveals to the public," Scrimgeour replied smoothly. The editor of the Daily Prophet twitched slightly, but recovered before anyone could notice.

"I am sure all of you will agree that swift action must be taken," the Minister continued. "We must decide whether the secrecy of the Wizarding World is really still important when the safety of all humanity begins to be jeopardized."

The liaison from France had begun to look increasingly alarmed as an idea occurred to her. "What exactly are you suggesting, Minister?"

But before Scrimgeour could answer, Lucius Malfoy spoke up from his seat, second from the head of the table. Originally it had made Scrimgeour disconcerted to place him so near to the top, but there was no choice; Lucius would have settled for nothing less. He could be quite convincing when he wished to be. Quite frankly, the Minister was terrified of the man.

And the seating order was only a formality, anyway; it had nothing to do with who was in power here, as the Minister, at the head of the table, knew all too well.

Now Lucius was smiling icily. "But how can we be so sure that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is in fact behind these attempts?" he asked smoothly. "Wouldn't jumping to conclusions and pointing fingers only hinder our priority of protecting the Muggle world? This attack bears no similarity to his other recent ones. After all, I am not so sure that poisons, slipped into the drink, are quite his style."

Scrimgeour froze. Lucius made a convincing point. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was more disposed to storm into the bathroom of a Parliamentary official's suite and _Avada Kedavra_ him while he was relaxing in a bubble bath. It was more creative, and more satisfying, that way.

But poisons were definitely a possibility, no matter how dull. Who, in fact, was a most famous Potions master, and just as conveniently at the Dark Lord's disposal?

And everyone in the room also knew of the Malfoy family's loyalties. Lucius Malfoy could have very well been the one to propose such a plan as poisoning to the Dark Lord, despite his innocent act here.

It would not do for Scrimgeour to mention these coincidences now, of course. Instead, Scrimgeour turned back to the French delegate to address her previous question. "It matters not. We cannot afford to tarry any longer while the Muggle world is facing the same danger as the Wizarding World, and they are even more ill-prepared to defend themselves than we are. There is only one choice," the Minister said again, bracing himself for their reaction. The grimace grew on his face as he forced the fateful statement from between his clenched teeth:

"In order to protect all Muggle high government officials, here in London and everywhere else in the world, we must inform the Muggle political world of the Dark Lord's rising and the consequence it means for them."

There was a moment of heavy silence in the meeting room as the meaning of the Minister's words sunk in fully.

Then, immediately after, it was followed by an uproar. All factions of the meeting were fighting to protect their own interests, and the frantic shouts that bounced off the walls of the small room merged into a spectacular roar until Scrimgeour could hear nothing comprehensible. He didn't even try to explain himself, but stood and began to back away from the onslaught in fear. Every witch and wizard in the room looked eager to leap up and personally claw the Minister's eyes out. Only the decorum of the meeting kept them from rising, but it did not hinder their violent protests a bit.

"That is an outrageous idea!" Peterson exclaimed, slamming his hand on the table. "The secrecy you throw away like so much rubbish is the very thing that has kept magical folk surviving for centuries! You are asking for us all to go on a suicide mission, Minister!"

"What a headline that would make," the editor murmured to herself.

"It will cause more instability in the Wizarding World than is present already," added a corporate executive more calmly. "My father does not give the Ministry monetary grants in order for you to knock the economy around like a toy, Minister," he warned.

Scrimgeour rubbed the back of his neck agitatedly.

"The economy?" the Head of Magical Law Enforcement burst out indignantly. "You think that all this will only affect the _economy_? What about the safety of our own people? We have been trying to control You-Know-Who's damage for months! Can't you imagine how much of a hassle these Muggle governments will cause for us? And meanwhile, You-Know-Who will be free to wreak as much havoc as he'd like—"

"I beg to differ that informing the Muggle governments would cause a 'hassle'," the liaison from China interrupted coldly. The room quieted a little. "Muggle leaders are not stupid, Minister. They _will_ keep quiet in order to save their own skins, even in…unfamiliar situations such as this one. After all," he addressed the other liaisons, "none of your leaders could have provided representatives to this Ministry unless they had a slight idea of the existence of magic already."

"They think I am their representative for British bratwurst manufacturing," the Italian delegate muttered. "Bratwursts do not get the attention they deserve, I assure you."

As the men and women laughed grimly and the rest of the representatives chimed in, Scrimgeour felt an alarming squirm in his stomach. He caught the attention of the Chinese liaison. "So the Chinese know of us?" he asked in a low voice, hoping in vain not to attract attention. Two seats down, Lucius Malfoy pretended to be listening to the Italian, a hint of a smirk beginning to creep onto his lips. His Lord probably could not make much use of this information right now, but it was still amusing to see the Minister so uncomfortable.

"No, but I cannot help but suspect that _they_ suspect," the Chinese man said cautiously. "They know I am a representative of a low-profile British organization unknown to the British crown." He paused and chuckled bitterly. "Oh, to find out exactly what the organization does, they never really bothered. As long as they know China has an inside man in case this organization gains power, you see, I was never that important."

Scrimgeour smiled warmly. "Well, I'm sure you realize that if you approve of what I'm proposing, you will soon become _very_ important to the Chinese government."

Upon hearing this pathetic sales pitch, it took Lucius Malfoy all of his willpower not to snort. But as the information traveled down the table, for the Chinese delegate and many others from different countries, the bargain sounded appealing.

"Well?" Scrimgeour asked of Kingsley Shacklebolt, prying him away from several protesting businessmen. The situation, though not spiraling out of control yet (as he had feared), was far beyond one man's ability to handle. He gave Kingsley the most desperate, appealing look he could muster.

In front of the advisory, Kingsley knew the Minister should show no outward sign of weakness or incompetence. "You should ask Lucius before you come to me," Kingsley said simply, but Scrimgeour did not miss the grave look that accompanied the seemingly casual statement. Kingsley turned back to pacify the Heads of the Ministry's departments while Scrimgeour approached Lucius Malfoy.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, what is your stand on my proposal?"

Lucius looked up, as if just noticing the Minister by his side. "You value my opinion?" he asked dryly. His eyes pierced into Scrimgeour's. "You of all people know never to take things at face value."

Scrimgeour kept his carefully composed expression, but inside he felt like crying with frustration. Lucius Malfoy always saw right through him, no matter how he set up his story. It was like all those twists and turns, carefully spun lies and half-truths all fell away as soon as Lucius turned those grey eyes on him. The Malfoy name, of course, was connected with the Dark Lord. It wasn't so much a connection as a _connotation_ now. Lucius would expect the Minister to keep an eye on him, but because the Minister was asking his opinion now, he knew that the Minister was asking, rather, what _the Dark Lord_ would do with this new development.

He would never be fooled by such a scheme, Scrimgeour realized belatedly.

It took close to no time for Lucius to decide that it was a win-win outcome this time. Let the Minister think too little, and assume that it was what the Dark Lord wanted. Or let him think too much, and think and think until he really wasn't sure at all if it was what the Dark Lord did or didn't want. In reality, even Lucius himself did not know what the Dark Lord wanted, but he did know that confusing the Minister was a plus.

"I will back your decision if the others will pass the proposal," he told the Minister simply.

Scrimgeour smiled nervously, the sweat trickling down his neck as he loosened his tie. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked around the room to scope out the situation once more. It wasn't as dire as it had been, judging from the decrease in advisors fighting for a chance to speak with him, and the increase in advisors now seated contentedly and talking quietly amongst themselves at the table.

The liaisons were definitely in, judging by the amount of satisfied talk he saw from them. And why wouldn't they be satisfied? They would gain power and influence, both in the Ministry and in their home governments. If the conflicts in the Wizarding World started seeping into the ones of everyday humans, they very well might find themselves commanding an entire embassy or organization. No doubt they were already scheming to grab as much power as possible when the opportunity arose.

And Lucius Malfoy was appeased, for now. But pacifying the press, the Ministry departments, and the corporations were another dilemma altogether. The feat was quite a great one, as the three parties had three different grievances:

The businessmen were concerned about the instability in society and economy that the announcement would cause. This was only because of the effect on their own corporations, of course, but the Ministry could not afford to lose the funding that came from that end.

The Heads of the Ministry departments considered themselves to, collectively, virtually run all aspects of the Wizarding World. And on a level, that was true. If the Wizarding World was turned on its ear, the Ministry departments would have turmoil and a certain degree of revolution on their hands. But Scrimgeour could not afford to have all of his departments' Heads resign together like they had been threatening to earlier.

The Daily Prophet had not a particular grievance with the proposal, for it would make for a huge story. But if the Ministry had no leverage to keep the media under its influence, the results would be disastrous. Just the thought of it made Scrimgeour break again into a cold sweat.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat nearby, negotiating with these three parties. From what Scrimgeour could hear, Kingsley would "convince the Minister to overlook the Daily Prophet's recent offense and infringement" on the matter of the Parliamentary official attempted homicide, _if_ the editor agreed not to print a word about the proposal in the paper. This, in turn, would keep this new information from the general public, therefore keeping the economy stable and the Wizarding World ignorant, which was what both the businessmen and Ministry bureaucrats needed.

In fact, Kingsley was saying, to take it one step further, nobody outside of this room was to know about the new order of things at all. Aside from government leaders and whoever they chose to take care of it, it really wasn't necessary. And in the case of a breach of privacy…then they would know exactly who had the information.

He left it off there. Scrimgeour was truly impressed at how subtly menacing Kingsley could appear when he set his mind to it.

So everyone had been convinced in one fell swoop. Things really wouldn't change for the Wizarding World if the secrecy was abandoned, Scrimgeour tried to convince himself. The foreign governments wouldn't be a hassle if the liaisons took care of them, which they would be more than happy to do.

And for the moment, Lucius Malfoy was keeping quiet.

It was all the Minister could hope for.

* * *

**A/N: If you read, please leave a tiny review! It means the world to me, and I appreciate every one. Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Two Shots in the Dark**

**Chapter 2 - _Playing Model UN_**

* * *

Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he said in a tentative attempt to get the attention of everyone in the room. But with roughly 150 frantic world leaders and their magical liaisons all talking at once, he might as well have whispered it for all they heard him.

"I didn't come here to play model UN with the children," a cranky leader grumbled to his liaison. "You said that national security was at stake, but all I see is a bunch of sods in suits and freaks in long black floppy robes!"

"Please, just listen to him," pleaded another liaison to her Queen. "I know this comes as quite a great shock, but our whole world—the non-magical world—needs to know of this."

The Minister of Magic held his wand up to his throat, and tried again. "Excuse me! Could I please have everybody's attention?"

This time, his voice boomed spectacularly across the room, causing all of the Muggle leaders to twist themselves in his direction and crane their necks to see how he was amplifying his voice.

"It's really magic!" the King of Morocco exclaimed.

The Bangladeshi leader snorted. "It is only a microphone," he told the King. "This whole thing is a hoax." The Nigerian President, who sat one row in front of him, nodded his agreement.

The young man who sat next to him, the Prince of Wales, frowned and pointed out, "But then where are the speakers?"

All three men became quiet as a sudden realization dawned on them. They frowned, perplexed, but none of them wanted to be the first to point out what they had noticed for fear of being laughed at.

"I'm not imagining it…" the Prince of Wales said slowly.

"Neither am I," the Bangladeshi Prime Minister declared.

"Why are we all able to understand each other?!" the King of Morocco cried loudly, so that most of the room stopped talking to listen to him. "I am speaking in Arabic, and surely you are speaking in Bengali and he is speaking in English…yet we can all hear each other as if we are speaking in our native tongues! It's some sort of miracle!"

"That it is not," the Minister of Magic announced from the front of the room. "It is just the employment of another magical charm that the Ministry has placed on this room today for this express purpose." He could not help but let a little pride seep through his voice as he watched the Muggle leaders converse, amazed at being able to automatically understand each other without the use of translators.

"So magic really exists?" the King of Belgium asked, still unconvinced, until the man seated next to him answered in perfect Dutch, despite the fact that he was the Portugese-speaking Brazilian Prime Minister.

"Yes, I believe so," the Brazilian PM told the shocked King, "although I am just as surprised as you are."

Scrimgeour sighed in relief. The reaction the Muggles were exhibiting towards the use (and existence) of magic was less severe than he had initially expected. The reason why the Wizarding world went to such lengths to hide itself was not only because they thought life would be easier if the Muggles didn't know about them. It was because of a fear rooted deep in history, when it was the Muggle custom to burn witches and wizards at the stake.

But so far, the Muggles of the modern world were proving to be much more open-minded than their predecessors. It could've just been because the liaisons had been there to smooth the way, but no matter what the reason was, Scrimgeour was grateful for it. And if all else failed, at least he would have the consolation that it was now considered inhumane to burn people at the stake.

"Why have you brought us all here?" the King of Japan asked Scrimgeour suspiciously. "Surely you magical folk don't think you will be able to rule the world by luring the world's leaders into a trap!"

There were murmurs of consent, but Scrimgeour quickly put his hands up for silence. He had expected the Muggles to be difficult. They were, after all, a slightly pompous and arrogant bunch. But surprisingly, the first obstacle had been cleared already. It had only taken a few impressive displays of magic, performed as the Muggles had entered and taken their seats, to convince most of the leaders of its existence. As a whole, even the non-magical community had its share of supernatural and superstitious beliefs, which manifested themselves into religions and religious beliefs.

Ironically, it would not be the magical part that posed the greatest challenge, Scrimgeour thought to himself. Once again, it would be the political part.

"I applaud your cautiousness, all of you, for it is the very mindset we need to face the danger that is upon us," he began. "But that is the farthest from our intentions. The reason I have called you all here is of dire importance. Your lives, your peoples' lives, and your _way_ of life—and the world's existence, actually—are being threatened by an evil wizard. He is skilled in the Dark Arts and has gathered many followers. The very ideal of the society he envisions, and will stop at nothing to achieve, revolves around blood purity. That is to say, he wishes to eliminate all non-magical folk, and all wizards who have non-magical blood in them."

Scrimgeour took a deep breath and swept the room with his solemn gaze. The Muggles sat quietly, listening. "That means that you would all die."

The atmosphere of the room, which was the trial room in the Ministry where the Wizengamot usually held their meetings, grew heavy. They had held this gathering here because no other place had been large enough to accommodate so many people, but now Scimgeour was beginning to regret it. When everyone in such a large room held their breath in apprehension, the dead silence that resulted was disconcerting.

The Minister's blunt statement had no doubt shocked everyone into silence. However, whether the Muggles believed him or not was a completely different question.

Finally, the Prince of Wales spoke up. "And what is this Dark Wizard's name?"

Scrimgeour sighed. Here came the tough part. If he didn't make You-Know-Who sound as formidable and threatening as the Wizarding community saw him, the Muggles would never believe him. "His name is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or You-Know-Who."

There was silence no more as each and every Muggle Prime Minister, royal, or elected president burst into loud laughter. "_You-Know-Who?!_" someone burst out incredulously, sending everyone near him into renewed bouts of laughter.

"Yes, You-Know-Who!" Scrimgeour snapped, irritated. He needed to redirect the focus back towards the issue, but there was nothing he could do except to say the name. "Because this wizard is so widely feared within the Wizarding community, a taboo has developed around saying his name. His real name…his real name is"—here Scrimgeour paused to collect himself—"…Lord—Lord Voldemort."

This title, which sounded infinitely more impressive than the laughable You-Know-Who, silenced the world leaders' laughter at once. "What does he look like?" the Argentinean president asked quietly.

Rufus Scrimgeour took his wand away from his throat and conjured up a silver square in the air, which bore resemblance to the surface of a Pensieve.

"Like this," the Minister of Magic said quietly as an image of the Dark Lord rising, fully formed, from within the cauldron flashed onto the screen. Voldemort's flat, snake-like face filled the room, his pale skin glowing in translucence from the moonlight. Like all magical pictures, the figures within moved. The Muggles gasped as they saw Peter Pettigrew's raw stump, gleaming with new blood.

"This image is a memory straight from the mind of Harry Potter, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore's Pensieve," Scrimgeour said as the image faded. Immediately after, there came an onslaught of questions.

"Who is Harry Potter?"

"What is an Albus Bumblegore?"

"What is a Pensieve?"

"What happened to that man's hand?"

Scrimgeour held his hand up for silence again. "Harry Potter is the only wizard known to have survived an attack by the Dark Lord numerous times," he explained hurriedly. "He was there to witness the Dark Lord's return, seen here."

"So why doesn't Harry defeat the Dark Lord?" somebody asked.

The Minister looked gravely out into his audience and said patiently, "Because Harry Potter is seventeen years old."

"How could he have defended himself if he is so young?"

"Where is he now?"

"Why hasn't anyone else been able to survive the Dark Lord's attacks?"

Scrimgeour waved away the questions, sighing. "You may ask your liaisons for the entire story later. It is somewhat complicated, and we have no time to discuss it here. All I ask now is for you to understand the gravity of this situation and how it affects your world as well as ours. The danger is imminent, so I feel that it is my responsibility to prepare you to protect yourselves."

"And what exactly are we protecting ourselves _against_?" the Ethiopian president asked.

"What are you protecting yourselves against, you ask me?" Scrimgeour cried, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll show you!"

He lashed his wand out toward the screen, and a full scene of a Death Eater using the Imperius Curse on a child played out. _Imperio! _"The Dark Lord is capable of forcing one to do his bidding,"—and he waved his wand again—_Crucio!—_"torture of unimaginable pain and suffering,"—and screams began to ring out, echoing on the tall stone walls as the Cruciatus Curse was performed on the screen—"and instant homicide and murder!" he cried as You-Know-Who himself _Avada Kedavra_-ed a man, killing him instantly.

Silence fell again as ominous echoes of the screams began to subside. The Muggle leaders, shaking and sweating, watched as the life seeped slowly out of the man on the screen.

"So, who will ally themselves with the magical community?" Scrimgeour asked quietly after a moment.

For a second, all were frozen in the room. The Muggles wavered between fear of what they had just seen, and their own human instinct to reject what they did not want to accept as truth. But had Scrimgeour really done enough to convince them?

As the most fearful of the world leaders began to inch their hands up uncertainly, Scrimgeour noticed that some countries' leaders stared with outright animosity at others. There were even some that only chose to put their hands up or keep them down once they saw how their enemy nation had voted.

Scrimgeour, irritated at the fickleness that the Muggle world leaders were showing, called out again. "Let me remind you that the danger stands equally among all races, ethnicities, and religious backgrounds. Everyone can only be protected if we work together."

This time a few more hands went up, but there were still a good number which remained down, their leaders adamant and stony-faced.

"I'm not here to play model UN, Minister," someone said once again. "We cannot, as you say, set all of our differences aside and place our complete trust in your society. It's time you saw the reality and learned the true nature of the modern world."

There were several sounds of assent.

"Yes, and aren't you lot wizards? Don't you have magic? Can't you just bibbidy-boppity-boo away the bad guy?"

"The Dark Lord used to be an extremely talented wizard," Scrimgeour explained slowly, taking deep breaths to stay his anger. "But as you can see, once he began to dabble into the Dark Arts, they have consumed his magical soul. He has completed magical feats, dangerous, horrible things that the rest of us would never dare try. And that is precisely what has given him power beyond the rest of us."

Somebody in the back of the room called out. "So exactly why would it be to our advantage to join _you_ in war? What's in it for us?"

Scrimgeour's temper slipped to hang on by a mere thread.

"Fools!" he snarled at the Muggles. "Don't you understand? All of your fates and futures are bound together by your non-magical blood! The Dark Lord cares not for your petty differences. You are all the same to him!" He glared at his audience. "While you sit and bicker amongst yourselves about nothing, his power grows ever stronger and his ranks larger. If you do not act soon, it will be too late!"

The Muggles were quiet for a moment as they struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the problem that Scrimgeour was presenting. They had never had to deal with war on a larger scale than their World Wars. And even then, it had never involved, literally, the entire world.

They had no idea of the consequence and almost not the capacity to understand it. And after several long seconds of struggle, the Muggles had no choice but to revert back to their idea of the world as they recognized it.

"There are a lot more of you good guys than his bad guys, right? So, since you already have the advantage of numbers, with a decent military strategy you should be able to take him down!"

"Yeah, that's right! He's only one man. Two shots in the dark and that ought to take care of him, same as any other. _Bam! Bam!_ And he's gone!"

Scrimgeour laughed grimly, digging his nails into his palms with frustration at the Muggles' stubborn, hard-headed ignorance. "Are you kidding? You will not be able to take down the Dark Lord with military tactics! You cannot _shoot_ him with your puny guns. He alone could keep a whole regiment of Aurors busy, and kill some of them, too!"

"What are Aurors?"

Scimgeour sighed. He would make one last, desperate attempt. "If you wish to think selfishly, then look at it this way: Your country's people are looking to you for guidance and protection. In order to do your job and keep your people from dying, you will need to accept the unknown and trust that the people who _do_ know—us Magical folk—will tell you how to minimize the damage done by the Dark Lord. You are doing humanity a service, ladies and gentlemen. You are heroes!"

The clerk who was sitting beside the Minister of Magic, recording the votes, looked up from his Quick-Quotes Quill and parchment and grimaced at him.

"What?" Scrimgeour asked him.

"You're reverting to pure flattery to get what you want," the clerk replied, looking a tad amused. "It's quite sad, not that it's my place to say, Minister."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat pointedly as seven more countries' leaders raised their hands in assent. "You will not laugh at me when it is has done the job. This is the only tactic that will work on these stubborn Muggles, and that is the truly sad part," he grumbled, though his bad mood was lightened again as four more leaders agreed to join his alliance.

"Has everyone who wishes to join in an alliance with the Wizarding community raised their hand?" Scrimgeour asked his audience. "Are there any last-minute additions?"

A couple more hands went up hastily, and the clerk's quill recorded them.

"Good! Well, then, our last order of business is to create a name for our alliance. We'll be meeting here at the Ministry of Magic once a month, or whenever any of us sees fit to call an emergency meeting. Does anyone have any suggestions?"

"The Quest to Save Humankind from Lord Voldy," someone said with a laugh.

Scrimgeour groaned. This was not a joke, and it seemed that the Muggles were still taking it that way.

"What about the World's Alliance?" somebody suggested.

"Perfect," Scrimgeour said quickly before any more silly names could be suggested. It was seriously diminishing from the decorum of the atmosphere in the room, and if the Muggles did not treat this like they do with their other alliances then the entire thing would be useless. As it was, Scrimgeour was having his doubts.

"Have the countries who have agreed file out first," Scrimgeour told the clerk. "Keep the rest in their seats so we can place a Silencing Spell on them."

And so the World's Alliance was born.

* * *

**A/N: Hi, everyone! How do you like this new story so far? I'm trying to make it unique and interesting - am I succeeding? Please let me know by leaving a teeny review. I'd really appreciate it! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Two Shots in the Dark, Chapter 3**

_**Dangerous Alliances and Memos  
**_

The first time Matthias Erickson, executive of ErickCorp Corporation, had contacted Lucius Malfoy requesting a meeting with him outside of the Ministry, the proposed meeting place had been the Hog's Head bar in the village of Hogsmeade. Why Erickson had suggested this place was beyond Lucius's understanding, except that whatever in the world Erickson had to discuss with him, the corporate executive preferred it was not overheard.

Lucius's reply had been short, polite but curt. He would not, on any circumstances, meet at the Hog's Head.

The reason was because Aberforth Dumbledore, who was an active member of the Order of the Pheonix, was the bartender there, though half the time he was so hidden in the filth of the place that he was unrecognizable. Lucius only knew of his whereabouts because, naturally, his Lord had to monitor and track every known member of the Order.

Erickson had written back, almost begging that Lucius meet with him anywhere. This sort of power over another was not to be wasted, and Lucius had no qualms about taking advantage of it. Besides, he was slightly curious about what Erickson wanted.

And so this was how he came to be seated, alone, in the virtually empty Three Broomsticks pub at three in the afternoon. Erickson had called the meeting for four o'clock, but if the matter was as urgent as he had made it seem, the man would be here early. Besides, Lucius wanted to get this over with before the normal evening crowd would be pouring into the Three Broomsticks to drink themselves silly after work, as per usual.

Sure enough, as the clock behind the bar struck half past three, a young-looking wizard in formal robes strolled easily into the pub, with the casual air of someone who had not a care in the world. Lucius was not fooled.

As if to prove the point, the man's relaxed charade disappeared as he spotted Lucius seated at a table near the far corner of the room. Erickson stalked over to him quickly, glancing around unhappily at the few tables of people that had trickled in while Lucius had been waiting.

"Here already? I had not expected you to be early," Erickson remarked as he took a seat. His voice wavered slightly.

Lucius was not impressed, nor was he patient enough to wait this man's nervousness out. This was business…or at least, Lucius assumed it would be. "Well, what could possibly plague you so urgently that you must meet with me about it at once?" he asked sardonically. "If it has something to do with the new order, you should have contacted the Minister directly. It would have been taken care of by his little minions."

"Shh…we shouldn't speak of the new order here!" hissed Erickson, alarmed. He did not dare look around again, or draw the attention of the bartender. "You told me this place would be sufficient for our meeting."

"And isn't it?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow. "It is a place. There are seats. There are no Death Eaters around. Hell, we even have drinks!" He gestured at the butterbeers on the table in front of him. "What is not sufficient about it, Erickson?"

"We cannot afford to be overheard," the man said shortly. "There are not nearly enough people here to raise a ruckus so that we can talk under its cover."

Lucius rolled his eyes visibly. "How ignorant a statement," he sighed. "Don't you know that the more people there are around, the more ears? The more ears, the more chance one will overhear? And the more who overhear, the more likely it is that the overheard information will be understood and used against you?"

"Let me cast a Silencing Spell around us, then," Erickson said, reaching into his robes for his wand. Erickson could not call Lucius Malfoy arrogant and overconfident to his face, especially now that he needed his particular help and cooperation. But, as Lucius held out a hand to stop him, it was definitely what he was thinking.

"I can tell you all at ErickCorp have set a new standard for paranoia," Lucius commented dryly. "But your fear is not needed. In fact, casting a Silencing Spell would only serve to draw attention to us. If our conversation was not one that needed to be hidden, we would never have cast it."

Erickson paused. Lucius made a good point. "How do you suggest we proceed, then?" he asked.

"Let us take a walk into the forest. Both the Dark Lord and the Ministry will be hard pressed to eavesdrop on us in the wilderness." Erickson nodded, and the two men rose to exit the pub casually. Lucius flipped a couple sickles to the bartender for their drinks on his way out.

Once out in the open, taking a path through Hogsmeade toward the forest, Erickson spoke up. "Is it safe to talk now?"

Lucius observed him out of the corner of his eye. "You are eager to speak, and speak in complete privacy. What could be so important?" he asked, genuinely curious. "Is your company not doing well?"

Lucius already knew the answer to this question, of course. ErickCorp had been doing miserably as of late, an effect of the new order. It was true that the compromise between the Minister, the media, and the corporations would benefit most private companies in the long run. But ErickCorp was a company that had first invented magical alarm systems and now made a monopoly out of producing them for small businesses and warehouse and property owners. For them, the false sense of safety that the Ministry had given the general public did not boost sales at all, and in a time when the value of all other corporations were rising, ErickCorp simply could not compete.

Erickson did not find it necessary to mention any of these troubles to Lucius. It seemed that he had already given up on his company. "Oh, I have already given up on that old endeavor," he said casually, waving his hand to dismiss the idea.

"Is that so?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow. "It must have been a hard decision, seeing as the company has been in your family for generations."

"Naturally, magical technology advances much faster than Muggle technology," Erickson said, drawing an amused snort from Lucius. "I think it's about time we abandon that field so that the Erickson family name can be attached to a project more…worthwhile."

There was something about the way Erickson's voice suddenly changed tones that made Lucius very wary. This was not idle chatter about a corporation being abandoned. Was Erickson an executive-turned-spy, sent here to extract information from Lucius about the Dark Lord? If so, this would be a dangerous move for the Minister of Magic, and Erickson utterly the wrong man to employ for such a job. He had no experience in espionage, as any fool could see.

"What sort of worthwhile endeavors are you pursuing now? Another business opportunity, perhaps?"

Lucius fixed Erickson in a cold, steady gaze, intent on unnerving him to the point of breakdown. The Dark Lord did not take well to being spied on, and stupid spies were just not to be tolerated.

"You could say that," Erickson said cautiously, his fingers fiddling nervously with his robes. "In fact, that is what I wished to meet with you about, Lucius. You have power and influence in many places. One of these places is where I wish to pursue my worthwhile endeavor."

Lucius could not, for the life of him, figure out which place Erickson was talking about. It wasn't the Ministry, he hoped. It could've been any number of the pureblood families that the Malfoys had relations with. It could even be Hogwarts for all he knew. One place it could _not_ be was…

Lucius's mind was racing. Though the man was young, and for the most part inexperienced, he was smart. He knew his company was worthless to him. He knew where the power lay. He coveted it. And yet, it was ridiculous for him to come to Lucius for the key to that power. Unless…

Lucius stared at Erickson. "You cannot be serious," he stated incredulously.

The young man met his gaze unwaveringly, daring Lucius to laugh, his mouth set firmly in a determined line. For the first time, he seemed not to fear him.

"Give me one reason why I should even consider it," Lucius added. "You have nothing to offer us."

"I have all the knowledge of my company behind me," Erickson said. "Without me, you have only force, no finesse. All of your maneuvers are immediately revealed and recognized. But I can get you inside any building, any property, and out again before anyone realizes you have entered." Drawing a breath, he added bravely, "You won't have to _Avada Kedavra_ every guard or innocent bystander that gets in your way anymore. You won't have to leave behind a conspicuous trail of death."

Lucius recoiled at his impertinence, fighting down an urge to curse the man right then and there for his disrespect to his Lord. Instead, he realized that this man was right. He was so valuable that perhaps Lucius himself would gain more status by finding him and bringing him in.

"You must never speak to the Dark Lord in that manner, if you want to stay alive," he muttered dangerously.

"I want to stay alive," Erickson assured him. "Just let me know whenever I can be of any help. You know how to contact me."

But for Lucius, this seemed to be too easy. Before Erickson turned to go, Lucius grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around so that the two men faced each other head on.

"Not so fast," Lucius growled. "How can I be sure of your intentions?"

"You mean, how can you be sure I'm not a spy for the Ministry that destroyed my corporation and ruined my life?" Erickson replied. "You can have me observed, if you wish. Just keep in mind that whatever information I have on my company dies with me."

Damn it, he has leverage, Lucius thought. Well, I guess it couldn't hurt to take a small chance. He barely has any idea what he's getting into. He couldn't do much harm.

"One more thing," Lucius said, whipping out his wand and sweeping it in the air down the length of Erickson's height. "_Revelio._"

The spell was designed to reveal any other spells that were active in the area of the casting, as well as the nature and strength of the spell. But no patches of light, however faint, appeared in the air around Erickson's body. He had not been bugged by the Ministry, nor had he cast any protective spells on himself. He had placed his trust in the fact that Lucius would not try to attack him, which meant his intentions were close to being true.

"Alright, you can go," he said tersely. "I will inform our Lord of your allegiance, and we will be in contact with you shortly. Until then, Matthias Erickson."

Erickson nodded. "Until then, Lucius Malfoy." And then he spun on the spot, and was gone.

Alone, Lucius could not help but dance a little jig of excitement. Again, it had been he who added another valuable asset to the Dark Lord's inner circle. He would be reaping the rewards of his Lord's satisfaction.

Then he, too, spun on the spot and Apparated away, out of the forest of Hogsmeade.

* * *

Meanwhile, Scrimgeour was putting in extra hours at the Ministry, working long past dark. The offices were nearly empty when he received an Inter-Department Memo from the Management of Ministry Public Affairs.

_Mr. Minister—_

_Due to circumstances raised by the new order, we have been flooded by owls in the last few days from civilians demanding to know the real state of the Wizarding World, as they say that the Daily Prophet is no longer sufficient in providing accurate news to them. The public is convinced that the Ministry is keeping secrets, and the mail we receive is getting angrier by the day. Therefore, security must be heightened, lest the most extreme of radicals carry out the threats they now only put on paper. I strongly encourage you to employ a personal guard._

_Christine Gerald_

_Management of Public Affairs_

Scrimgeour could only stare at the foreboding memo for several moments, his brain frozen. He hadn't foreseen that the public would react so violently to the lack of depressing news in the Prophet. After all, people usually see and believe only what they wish to. He had been so sure that this aspect of the new order would be the most successful. Well, so much for that idea.

But what could he do now? With the public poised to plunge a knife into the Ministry at any moment, he couldn't exactly do nothing. But the Daily Prophet, when released from its vow of silence, could be libel to say anything, whether it was the truth or not. No, that couldn't happen.

Vainly Scrimgeour wished for Kingsley and his methodical way of taking care of things. What would Kingsley do in this situation?

Absently he tapped his quill on his cheek as he thought. The public wanted to hear the truth, but it was out of the question to tell it to them. As long as what the Ministry _did_ tell them was believable and acceptable as the truth, they wouldn't know the difference. Perhaps, in order to control exactly what information got to the citizens, the Ministry could skip the middleman, the media. They would deliver a statement directly to the Wizarding World.

With that decided, Scrimgeour gave a sigh of relief. He hadn't needed Kingsley to get him out of this mess after all. But just the thought of releasing a statement to the public made him break out into sweat all over again. This statement had to be perfectly fabricated, carefully constructed, and euphemistically worded. Otherwise, the whole thing would just fall in like the hollow shell of truth that it was.

Summoning over a blank memo from the pile on a shelf by the door, Scrimgeour began to write out a response to Christine Gerard.

_Christine—_

_Please construct a list of the most extreme of the radicals, as you put it. Tell them all the same thing: that the Ministry has been putting together an analytical report of all the most recent news, which has not been released to the media because the Ministry wishes to present it to the public directly. It will be done in the form of a statement from the Minister of Magic in exactly 4 days. That should appease them for now._

_Rufus Scrimgeour_

_Minister of Magic_

As the memo sped out of the door on its way to the Management of Public Affairs, Scrimgeour felt a piercing migraine coming on. There was no way but the hard way to solve this particular problem. And though he didn't want to admit it to anyone but himself, this new order had created more problems for the Ministry than he had initially predicted. That didn't mean that it wasn't worth it in the long run; it only meant that he had more work to do.

But for now, it was high time he headed home for some food. He could write his speech and employ his guard tomorrow.

"Sir?" Before he could even put his coat on, a nervous-looking intern poked his head in the door, and Rufus Scrimgeour thought fleetingly that he was about to receive even graver bad news as he beckoned the young man inside. News by messenger (and especially by anxious intern) was bound to be worse than news by memo.

"What is it?" Scrimgeour asked tiredly.

Wordlessly the intern handed him a piece of parchment, rolled up and stamped with the seal of Malfoy. Scrimgeour swallowed with difficulty before asking, "When did this come?"

"Just now, sir," the intern mumbled.

"You're in charge of mail for tonight?" Scrimgeour asked.

"Yes, sir."

Scrimgeour frowned. "And you didn't open it? You didn't read it?"

The intern shook his head vigorously, pointing to the small note on the outside of the parchment. "It says it's for the Minister, and of high importance," he said. "And it's from Lucius Malfoy," he added needlessly. "I daren't read it."

Scrimgeour let out a dry little laugh. "Right you are," he said, dismissing him with a sense of foreboding rising uneasily in his gut. For the Minister, of high importance, and from Lucius Malfoy. That could mean nothing but trouble for all. He unrolled the parchment.

_To the Minister of Magic—_

_I, Lucius Malfoy, formally offer my resignation from my post of Advisor to the Minister of Magic and Sponsor to the Ministry. Expect no more correspondence or transactions until further notice._

_Lucius Malfoy_

_Formerly of the Bureau of Advisors_

"Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no…" Scrimgeour trailed off in horror. The hand that held the parchment trembled uncontrollably, and without further ado the Minister rushed out the door of his office and stalked down the hall, feeling that the very walls were closing in on him with malicious glee.

* * *

"Minister, please try to breathe," Kingsley said soothingly in his deep voice. He placed his hands on the heaving shoulders of the currently hyperventilating Minister, who had just barged into his house through the fireplace unceremoniously and without explanation. Well, he was trying to explain.

"He—Lucius Malfoy—oh, we're in trouble now," Scrimgeour shuddered. "Do you hear me?" he shouted hoarsely at Kingsley, furious.

Kingsley looked concerned. "What about Lucius Malfoy? What has he done?" he asked the panicky Minister slowly.

Rufus Scrimgeour drew a few violent breaths. "He…he resigned," he forced out in a whisper.

Any other dim-witted, uncomprehending bureaucrat would have laughed at the Minister's words, but Kingsley understood the implications at once. Gulping, he whispered, "There is no use panicking now, Minister. We must keep our wits about us and think. Has anything recently given him a cause to resign from the Ministry?"

"Yes!" the Minister roared. "We have thought all these years that by keeping our enemies close, we could learn about them and keep them from learning about us! We thought we were using Lucius Malfoy!"

He barked a short, hysterical laugh. "Don't you see? It has always been the other way around! Whatever purpose Lucius served for him, there is no longer a need for it. You-Know-Who has no more use for _us_. He has all the information he needs to launch his attack, so all Lucius has to do is drop the charade, _turn in his resignation, and officially take his place beside his Lord!_" Scrimgeour wailed. Shaking Kingsley by the shoulders, he pleaded, "It's over! Don't you see?"

Kingsley sighed heavily. "Yes, yes, I see," he breathed, prying Scrimgeour's hands from their tight grip on his shoulders. "I understand. But we cannot panic now, for if we act quickly, there is still hope to save the Wizarding World."

Scrimgeour shook his head dejectedly, all of the hysterics and energy draining out of him at those words. "How is there hope?"

"First, we need to find out what caused him to resign," Kingsley said. "What was the last bit of information he received, which could possibly spur him and the Dark Lord to action?"

"Lucius Malfoy has not been at the Ministry since the day of the first World's Alliance meeting, though of course he did not attend…" Scrimgeour grew pale. "You don't suppose he somehow secured…"

"No," Kingsley stated firmly. "No one would have lacked the foresight to so foolishly give him such information. But I suppose now that he has resigned, everything in his office is Ministry property, Minister?"

Scrimgeour glanced at him, comprehending. "I am the Minister. I can search whoever's office I like. But please come with me, Kingsley. I am afraid that now that the true allegiance of Malfoy has been revealed, he will no longer avoid acting publicly. If he gets the chance to kill the Minister of Magic in front of all of London, I think he would do it."

Kingsley looked serious. "Then if you fear for your own safety, you must go into hiding immediately," he proclaimed. "I will search Malfoy's office myself when I get a chance."

Without waiting for Scrimgeour to argue with him, he whipped out of the room to arrange for the Minister of Magic to go into hiding.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews, conspiracy theories, and criticism are all very welcome. Please leave some! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Two Shots in the Dark, Chapter 4**

_**Escaping (Mostly) Unscathed**_

Lucius Malfoy made no effort to subdue the sound of his heavy footsteps as he approached the meeting room. In fact, he turned the knob, flung open the door, and entered the dark room with the assured air of one with authority. He was in his own house, after all. And after the Dark Lord heard the news he brought, he would without doubt be promoted. Again.

"Lucius, how nice of you to join us," a cruel, high-pitched voice remarked from within the shadows at the far end of the room.

Lucius took his seat and turned to face his Lord. "I apologize for my lateness," he said, inclining his head. "I was Owling the Ministry to offer my official resignation, effective immediately."

There was cold silence for a moment as everybody else in the room held their breath. When the Dark Lord finally spoke, his voice was laced with venom. "Did I ask you specifically to do so, Lucius?" Voldemort asked softly.

"No, my Lord, but—"

"You are needed at the Ministry, in that position!" Voldemort interrupted coldly. "I have nobody else with as much power and influence there who can get the sort of information you can. Do you not understand that, Lucius?"

"I do, my Lord, but I can explain—" Lucius protested, his heart pounding in his chest. This was not the welcome he had been expecting.

"Save your breath!" Voldemort snapped, his voice growing even higher with anger. "How dare you make such decisions without deferring to me? You will ruin my plans for the last time, Lucius!"

With astonishing speed, he reached into his robes and whipped out his wand. He poised it directly at Lucius, his red eyes flashing. Lucius froze, glued to his seat. Little trickles of sweat leaked from his temples. He could not foresee what Voldemort would do next. It had always been that way with his Lord.

The Death Eaters in the room held their silence as Voldemort considered the blond man before him.

"My Lord, please!" Narcissa Malfoy could not keep quiet for any longer. She leapt out of her seat, tears rolling down her cheeks in fear. Voldemort did not even glance in her direction, and his grip on his wand was as steady as ever.

"My husband and I are most loyal to you!" she cried. "Please understand, Lucius must have an explanation for his actions, and you would not kill him without hearing it, and leave me with no husband and our Draco without a father…" Suddenly her words seemed foolish to her. They would not make a difference. Narcissa trailed off and dropped back into her seat, trembling violently.

"My Lord, the reason I have resigned is because there is no need for us to spy on the Ministry any longer," Lucius said as smoothly as he could manage under threat of death, keeping his head bowed. Voldemort regarded him silently. "I have managed to secure for you the document that will soon render all of your current projects unnecessary."

Voldemort considered this, his red eyes glinting with interest in the surrounding dark. "Do continue," he said, gesturing to Lucius with his wand.

Lucius exhaled in relief. He had been in trouble with his Lord before, but never so much as to be on the brink of execution. Once again, he had said the correct thing, and his quick tongue had saved him. He would live to see another day, and perhaps still get his reward.

"As you know, the fool Scimgeour has recently forged an alliance with the governments of the some of the Muggle nations of the world," he continued, fiddling nervously with the cuffs of his robe sleeves under the table. "The document I have brought with me today is none other than the record of that meeting's proceedings. My Lord, you now know which Muggle nations have Scrimgeour's promise of safety. With this, we can ruin him once and for all."

"This is quite useful, My Lord," Bellatrix Lestrange murmured from her seat to Voldemort's left. She chuckled mirthlessly. "Perhaps you don't have to kill my dear brother-in-law after all."

This time, Voldemort deigned to glance down. "Oh, Bella…" he whispered, peering into her haggard face. Bellatrix leaned towards him, dragging her body further upward until she was nearly out of her seat. Her knuckles, which clutched the edge of the table to keep her from pitching forward, grew bone white with her need. She was drawn to him physically, to his power and presence, and every moment that she spent without him seemed empty and without purpose. "Bella…" Her name, spoken off of his tongue, sounded sweeter than any other.

"Yes, My Lord?" Bellatrix breathed, her chest rising and falling. As always whenever he addressed her, she hungered with her need to please him.

Voldemort cast a disinterested glance at her and then turned his gaze back to Lucius. "Do sit down, my dear." While a sullen, disappointed Bellatrix obeyed, Lucius could feel a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had to remind himself to concentrate, that he was still far from safety.

"So, what do you think of my proposition, My Lord?" he asked.

Voldemort held out a thin, long-fingered hand, the hand that was not holding his wand. "Let me see the paper, Lucius," he ordered.

As Lucius cautiously approached the high seat upon which his Lord sat, the entire room watched with apprehension, none more so than Narcissa Malfoy, whose tears had not entirely dried on her face and glinted dimly in the weak light. But Voldemort seemed to show little anger towards the tall blond man. All of his focus was concentrated on the roll of parchment that Lucius had drawn from one of the sleeves of his robes, and he reached forth almost hungrily to take the paper from him.

A crack of paper sounded as he unfurled it and began to read in the dim light. Bellatrix continued to gaze upwards and watch the expressions which passed on his face fleetingly with fascination.

"Yes, yes, very good," the Dark Lord proclaimed as he read, his voice growing higher and higher with excitement. He glanced up at Lucius, who still stood before him. "You have done very well, Lucius. This will indeed cause enough trouble for Scrimgeour and more, so that we may at last carry out our plans," he hissed eagerly. "This could even cause the Muggles to destroy themselves…"

Lucius bowed slightly and then returned to his seat with his head held high, scanning the room with a triumphant smile. "That is not all, my Lord," he announced boldly as Voldemort rolled up the parchment once more.

"Yes…? What else is there?"

"I have recruited for you yet another ally, this one an executive of both a powerful and useful corporation. You have my word that he will serve loyally for our cause." Lucius's smile broadened as murmurs of wonder began to float about the room.

"Silence!" the Dark Lord demanded, and was obeyed. "An _executive_, you say?" His tone was impossible to read.

"He's Matthias Erickson, owner and CEO of ErickCorp," Lucius announced proudly. "He's promised us all the information about his company's products and the orders he receives."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed into red slits, his eyes burning like tiny embers in the darkness, and now even Bellatrix looked away from his gaze in fear. Slowly he fingered the end of his wand, which he had shoved halfway back into his robes.

Lucius stared at his feet. "My Lord, you are displeased," he mumbled, his heart dropping back down towards his churning stomach.

When the Dark Lord spoke, his voice showed a different anger than it had before. Now he sounded quiet, even remorseful. "Ah, Lucius," he whispered. "How could I not be displeased? You have forgotten your place and brought, no, _enlisted_, a stranger into our midst. Now that you have given him information, it is a risk to keep him alive. How can we know that he is to be trusted? What if Scrimgeour is planting spies? Have you not thought of any of these things?" His cold red glare swept the room.

"I have, my Lord, and I can assure you of his allegiance," Lucius replied hastily. "I could find no listening spells, nor do I have any other reason to distrust him."

"Lucius," Voldemort hissed. "We _always_ have reason to distrust others. I cannot continue to trust _you_ any longer. Your judgment has been lacking as of late. Your insubordination will not be tolerated. Do you understand me?"

Lucius gulped. "Yes, my Lord. I promise I will change, my Lord."

"It is too late for that," Voldemort said with exaggerated regret, fingering his wand once again. From within the shadows Narcissa Malfoy let out a small gasp. A sharp look from Bellatrix silenced her at once, and she clamped a pale hand over her mouth. "I cannot permit you to remain here. Your behavior has been drawing dangerously near that of a traitor."

"But my Lord, I have always been loyal…" he muttered without hope.

"You were once my best man, Lucius, but I think you deserve a break," Voldemort said, his red eyes glinting with malice. "Go somewhere far, far away, and do not return until you receive my summons." He cackled a short laugh. "Perhaps Albania would be nice."

"Thank you, my Lord. You are merciful and forgiving, as always…" The words fell out of Lucius's mouth as he scrambled up from his chair and beckoned frantically to his shaking wife to do the same. "I am forever indebted to you, we all are…"

"That's enough," Voldemort cut in, his voice cruel once more. "You have exactly an hour until I retract my offer, Lucius. Get out of my sight."

The sound of the door slamming echoed throughout the Malfoy Manor as the Malfoys fled.

* * *

"_Ennervate._"

Scrimgeour's eyes fluttered open slowly, and he blinked to adjust his vision to the surrounding dim light. He was propped up at a desk that was not his own, in a chair that was not his own, and as he looked around there was not one thing in the room he recognized. Besides the desk, the small room contained nothing but a bookcase, a window over which curtains were drawn, and a doorway leading off into the darkness. Nothing adorned its plain whitewashed walls.

A shadow fell over the Minister's line of sight, and Scrimgeour twisted around, his heart palpitating at twice the normal rate. A man stood next to him, but because his back was to the light, Scrimgeour could not see the man's face. He squinted into the light to no avail.

"Minister…Minister, are you alright?" The man reached out a hand and shook Scrimgeour's shoulder in concern.

Scrimgeour recognized the voice, and it calmed his frantically beating heart a great deal. "Kingsley? Is that you?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Where am I?"

"Yeah, it's me," Kingsley said, turning so that the Minister could see his face. Scrimgeour let out his breath, relieved. "I've brought you to a place where you can stay in safety for now. It's one of the Ministry's top-secret locations to be used in event of an emergency, and I'd have to say that this is quite an emergency situation."

For a moment Scrimgeour's insides clenched again, frozen. "Has something else happened?" he asked, grabbing Kingsley's sleeve.

Kingsley stared at the Minister. "Well, we've had to tell the _Muggles_ about us," he told him slowly. "Everything about the world as we know it doesn't apply anymore. Now the Minister of Magic even has to rule the Wizarding world from afar for his own safety. And more things are going to happen after this. I have a feeling it's only going to get worse from here," he said solemnly.

Scrimgeour swallowed the lump in his throat. "Well, we just won't let that happen, will we?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued, "So where exactly is this? Am I even in England anymore?"

Kingsley shook his head. "You're not allowed to know where you are, or you might slip up and reveal it by accident. I placed the Fidelus Charm on this place, and I am your Secret-Keeper. Nobody else knows where you are. I had to Stun you to get you here so that your name wouldn't show up on your Apparition or my Side-Along Apparition records."

At the bemused expression on Scrimgeour's face, Kingsley explained, "Naturally, the Ministry must keep tabs on the Apparition records of their employees. It is standard procedure in the Apparition sector of the Department of Transportation."

"But wouldn't this location be revealed on your records anyway if you keep Apparating here to see me?"

Kingsley sighed. "Yes, but who pays attention to wear I Apparate? My work takes me all over Europe." He tapped the desk with his fingers. "It's your name, Minister, which would draw attention on the Side-Along Apparition records. Now, I just received notice that you promised to give a statement to the public on behalf of the Prophet in three-and-a-half days."

Scrimgeour nodded, looking noticeably disheartened by the reminder.

"Wonderful!" Kingsley said cheerfully, startling the Minister, who looked at him, aghast. "Here you will have peace and quiet to work on writing your speech. I think it will be one of your best." He gave Scrimgeour a pat on the shoulder and turned towards the exit. "Now that you are settled in, I'll leave you to work. Your sleeping quarters, kitchen, and bathroom are all this way. Enjoy your stay, Minister!"

"Wait!" Scrimgeour called after him. Kingsley stopped halfway to the door. "How will I be able to communicate with anyone if I need to?"

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. "If you install a Vidiportal here, I can activate it on the other side wherever you need it. It's the most prudent way for you to conceal your location, but I don't think we should use it unless absolutely necessary. After all, I can carry out your orders at the Ministry."

Internally Scrimgeour chastised himself for overlooking the obvious. The _Videre_ image portal (it had been named after the incantation used to launch the spell), or Vidiportal for short, had been a recent development in the Wizarding communications industry. Based on the concept of Floo powder, the portal could be installed and activated by a series of spells, and then projected images across from one end to another. Although the spell did not require the use of Floo powder or a fireplace, it was not capable of transporting an object or person from one place to another. Despite its conveniences, the _Videre_ image portal had not become particularly popular because it required activation on both ends, and most wizards preferred Flooing. But for Scrimgeour's purposes it was perfect, because unlike Floo activity, the locations of portals could not be traced.

"Terrific. Good work, Kingsley," Scrimgeour pronounced. "Please employ a guard for my family. I will send a Patronus if I have any need of you, but meanwhile I must work on my statement." He sighed wearily and eyed the doorway. "Although perhaps a brief nap would help me concentrate later," he added as an afterthought.

Kingsley suppressed a smile. "I am sure you will not disappoint, Minister," he said before walking out the door. "Stay out of sight!"

Scrimgeour heaved himself up from his desk and headed towards the small bedroom, ready to sleep forever.

**A/N: Hope you liked it. Reviews are very much appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Two Shots in the Dark, Chapter 5**

_**Complications at the Ministry**_

Pius Thicknesse, the Head of Regulation and Control of the Use of Magic, a subdivision of Magical Law Enforcement, came across Kingsley just as he was exiting Lucius Malfoy's abandoned office after conducting the thorough search of his belongings that the Minister had ordered. Kingsley glanced up in surprise as Thicknesse's tall frame blocked his way.

"Afternoon, Pius," he said cordially.

"Afternoon, Kingsley," the other man returned, sounding a bit out of breath. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Candice Rutherford in Law Enforcement told me that she had seen you walk this way. What were you doing in Lucius's office?" Thicknesse asked curiously.

Kingsley refused to be caught off-guard by the other man's seemingly friendly tone. Though he had personally harbored doubts about the Regulation Head for years, information had recently come to the Order—and by way of Severus Snape, no less—that confirmed that Thicknesse was indeed now in the service of the Dark Lord.

And while the incoming flow of intelligence from both the Ministry and the Order often proved extremely useful to Kingsley, it was sometimes just as useless. This was one of those cases: Kingsley couldn't even _recommend _to Scrimgeour that he fire Thicknesse, because supposedly the Ministry had absolutely no incriminating information on him. Scrimgeour would need proof of the man's wrongdoing, and Thicknesse's Ministry record was scoured clean. Kingsley couldn't very well pull out a stack of Order of the Phoenix reports for the Minister to review as evidence.

Now, with a great effort, Kingsley kept his countenance pleasant. It was paramount that he would betray no indication to Thicknesse of the Minister's suspicion about Lucius Malfoy's resignation, and maintain the façade of ignorance.

"I'm readying the room for its new occupant, making sure everything is cleared out and none of the furniture is broken. Standard procedure, as I'm sure you know." He fired an equally curious glance back at Thicknesse. "Surely you've heard by now that Lucius offered his resignation to the Minister on Tuesday?"

Thicknesse balked, but forced himself to recover quickly. He had not known, in fact, and now he knew that he had just lost one of his primary allies at the Ministry—not that he could tell Kingsley as much, of course. And Thicknesse was in such a position of power in his department that he could continue to serve the Dark Lord's interests at the Ministry without Lucius's help. It might even boost him in the long run, because as of now the Head was of such low status within the Dark Lord's circle that he had not been given the Dark Mark, nor was he summoned to any of the Death Eater meetings. His Lord simply called upon him if he was ever needed.

But Lucius Malfoy's power had given Thicknesse a strong sense of security, and had paved him an easy path in the Ministry, free of suspicion. After all, who else could have ensured that his Ministry record was wiped spotless?

"I'm sorry to hear that," Thicknesse replied in a constricted voice. "Who is to be the new occupant of his office?"

"We don't know yet," Kingsley said shortly. "I'm sure the Minister will be hiring some new personnel soon. But you know me, Pius. I always like to be prepared for the moment when the need arises."

Despite his high position in the Minister's Board of Advisors, Kingsley knew that he was often dismissed as the Ministry's housekeeper. Heads of the departments, including Thicknesse, assumed that Kingsley had little power or influence over the Minister simply because he managed things like office arrangements and memo delivery when he wasn't out in the field doing Auror work. But in truth, because of his job Kingsley saw—and knew of—everything that went on within the walls of the Ministry.

"So, what was it that you needed to see me for?" he asked Thicknesse politely when silence had fallen between them.

"Oh, yes, I've been receiving the strangest reports from External Communications." External Communications, or ExComm for short, was a sector of the Department of Magical Transportation and Communication. "It seems that the Floo networks that run from the Ministry fireplaces here in ExComm to Wizarding consulates all over Europe have seen more traffic this morning than in the last year combined." Thicknesse frowned in true confusion. "Naturally, ExComm forwarded the odd Floo patterns to Regulation and Control for examination—but I've never seen anything like it! Representatives from the consulates have been pouring in for the last few hours, and they're all clamoring to see the Minister."

Kingsley suppressed a groan. This could only mean one thing: the Muggles were dissatisfied.

He could only hope that the liaisons who had arrived were smart enough to keep their mouths shut about the dropping of the secrecy, and the Minister's new order. After all, almost nobody at the Ministry, except for the Board of Advisors and the Minister's private clerk, knew anything about it. The Muggle leaders had been smuggled into the Ministry the day of the World's Alliance meeting—for security purposes, but it was irritating all the same. Kingsley hoped that the Muggles would not demand to come here any sooner than the next scheduled Alliance meeting in nearly a month.

"Speaking of the Minister, where has he gone off to these past two days? He hasn't been in his office," Thicknesse said.

Kingsley hesitated for a moment—but the world would find out sooner or later, anyway, he reasoned—before saying, "I've heard some rumors that he has taken himself into hiding as a precaution, under a recommendation from the Management of Public Affairs. He's been receiving threats on his life, you know."

Thicknesse looked innocent, almost too innocent. Kingsley wouldn't have been surprised if the man and his other Ministry traitor friends had been using their Ministry credentials to incite public dissention themselves.

"Well, I guess it's all in a day's work for him," he said casually. "They'll never be happy no matter what we do. But, wow, the Minister's actually gone into hiding? The threats must have been serious. Where is he?" He threw the question out offhandedly, but the gleam in his eyes was less disguised.

"I don't know," Kingsley replied, lying easily. "It wouldn't be much of a safe hiding spot if anyone knew where it was, would it? I'm not even sure if the rumors are true, but the Board of Advisors ought to know."

"Well, he's going to have a hell of a time with those consulate representatives when he returns, that's all I've got to say."

Kingsley sighed and resisted the urge to hex Thicknesse straight into the next week. "I'll take care of it for him, Pius. Don't worry. I'm sure there are more pressing matters to attend to in Regulation and Control, anyway. The underage use of magic is on the rise these days!"

Thicknesse took the hint and bowed as Kingsley edged past him with a strained smile. The two men parted as Kingsley headed for the lift that led to External Communications and Thicknesse prepared to head out for lunch, after sending out a hurriedly scrawled message by owl.

* * *

"I don't know what could possibly be this urgent that it couldn't wait until the next opening in my schedule, Mister…sorry, what was your name again?"

"Never mind that, my name isn't important."

"I like to credit my sources."

"This source would not like to be credited. He wishes to stay anonymous and preferably androgynous as well."

"Have it your way. Now, you said you had earth-shattering news? Are you sure this place has adequate secrecy measures to ensure that we are not overheard?"

"I'm no newcomer to the business of secrecy, I can assure you. To outside observers I appear to be an old grey-haired witch, hunched with age, with a set of powder blue rain boots on. And you, my dear, appear to be an aged wizard with gnarled hands and a rather large wart on his nose. If anyone comes within earshot, we are speaking of our daughter's wretched new husband. He happens to be the fourth one she's had since running away from home at age seventeen. Satisfied?"

"Very. Now, down to business…where exactly did you gather this information from? How do I know it is reliable?"

"Garnered from between the very lips of a high advisor on the Minister's Board, it's as true as the wart on your nose, my dear."

"I hope you don't mean that it isn't true at all. Well?"

"The Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour has fled London once and for all. He fears for his life due to a few recent unpopular proposals that he has forced through the Bureau of Advisors."

"Have you heard anything in particular about this legislation? What do the proposals say?"

"I don't know, but it's caused uproar in the Ministry and in the public, so your guess is as good as mine on that one. But the part that will be worth Galleons to your political commentators is that Scrimgeour supposedly plans on ruling the Wizarding world from afar. He has no future plans to relinquish claim on his position. He's going to slowly tighten the reins until he's got all the power—and he'll be too far away for rebuke or punishment."

"That's all well and good, but political commentators, you said? Let's be honest, nobody even reads that column. Why can't we print it on the front page?"

"You forget the Libel and Sedition Edict, my dear. Most likely the same advisor in the Ministry that let this information slip will be approving—or not approving—your publication. He or she will leap at the opportunity to correct their blunder, and this gem of yours will not publish."

"Damn the Edict! Important stories of mine have been rejected time and time again, but the public needs to hear the truth."

"You can circumvent the Edict if you give this story to your political commentators and let them make of it what they will. The Edict only applies to _news_ stories, things that the public will assume holds the truth. But that does not mean that they don't place much of the same confidence in political commentary. You don't even have to submit the column in for approval."

"Well, I guess I can run the political commentary column right next to the Quidditch standings. Everyone reads those."

"Exactly, my dear. Now you're catching on."

The jingle of coins passed across the table from the old wizard with the wart on his nose to the elderly witch in the powder blue rain boots, and without a word, both rose and left the restaurant.

* * *

Kingsley edged into the External Communications wing cautiously, expecting to be bombarded with angry liaisons and their Muggle leaders' new demands. Instead he was met with silence and an empty corridor of offices. Frowning, he turned and entered the door immediately to his left, where he found the Transportation and Communication department's Personnel Manager sitting at her desk, filling out paperwork with a fluffy quill.

He gave a small cough. "Er—Linda?"

Melinda Connelly looked up, smiling sweetly at the sound of his voice. She and Kingsley had known each other since their Hogwarts days, and met up once in a while for coffee if their lunch breaks permitted it.

"Ah, Kingsley, nice to see you as always," she said cheerfully, peering up at him from underneath dark eyelashes. "There are quite a few invaders in my department that claim they are here to see you. Ever the popular one, aren't you?"

She was teasing, but Kingsley wanted to get right down to business today. He had no time for flirtatious banter, even if he knew that it was only in Linda's nature and he was receiving no special treatment. Thoughts of his fiancée, who awaited his return eagerly at home every night, often assailed him guiltily during the day. He hadn't been spending much time with her lately, with the stress upon the Ministry growing exponentially by the day. And here Linda thought that he was still up to his old antics when in all honesty, he just needed to find the rampant liaisons and appease them before any serious damage could occur.

"So, where are they, then?" Kingsley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Linda was a good-tempered woman by nature—it was a requirement for the post of Personnel Manager—so she brushed off Kingsley's dismissal. It was understandable that he was too busy to talk, since he had to fill in duties while the Minister was gone, although it seemed mysterious to her that nobody really knew the reason behind the absence.

"Well, they've been arriving by Floo by the cauldron-full all morning, so I had no choice but to herd them all into Meeting Room C until you arrived." She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling wickedly. "I know that you'd rather strangers and outsiders not run wild around here. Especially Wizarding consulate reps from _Muggle_ states."

"What do you mean?" Kingsley asked, slightly alarmed. Did she know something that she wasn't supposed to?

Linda giggled, fluffing the feather of her quill even more. "You know I'm always a sucker for gossip, Kingsley," she said quietly. Kingsley remembered suddenly that one of the most dangerous things about Linda was that she pretended to be stupid and simpering—and most people fell for it. But Kingsley was equally sure that she was a good person and would never abuse that power, either. "Do you really think that news of the Minister's new order hasn't leaked out by now?" she asked.

Kingsley fought to keep his face from contorting with anger as he silently cursed Thicknesse, who as a department head had surely attended the Minister's first fateful proposal meeting. Of course, Kingsley had expected that the Dark Lord would already know of the new order—Lucius Malfoy passed information along under the threat of death—but he had not anticipated that Thicknesse might leak it into the Ministry itself. But the more Kingsley thought about it, the better a tactical move it was…for Thicknesse, anyway.

"So," he asked under a pretense of calm, "who knows about this, exactly?"

"Oh, nobody really, just the managers in Legal Counsel, Law Enforcement, and Public Affairs. I'm not even supposed to know. I only found out because Charlie"—she spoke of Charles Pickett, the Junior Project Manager of Legal Counsel—"and I are good friends." At Kingsley's raised eyebrows, Linda had the grace to blush slightly. "But really, it's nothing to worry about. Charlie said that one of the Heads filled them in, seeing as it's those three departments that'll be taking care of that sort of business anyway."

Kingsley held back a grimace. Of course he had expected nothing less of the perpetrator—Ministry Legal Counsel, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Management of Public Affairs were among the most powerful of divisions and subdivisions in the Ministry. If there was ever a place to ferment an anti-Scrimgeour conspiracy within the Ministry, that would be it.

The whole ploy reeked of Thicknesse. Still, just in case, he asked Linda, "Do you know which Head informed them?"

"No," she replied with a truly confused frown. "He didn't mention it. All he said was that he was sworn to secrecy." _Or threatened_, Kingsley added to himself. "But I promised I wouldn't say anything, and you can hold me to that. Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, but thanks." Kingsley forced his most charming smile onto his face and quickly turned on his heel and exited back into the hallway. Immediately the painful smile dropped, and his head filled with buzzing thoughts as he made his way to Meeting Room C. Facing the liaisons was the last thing on his mind. That is, until he entered the room and a small metal contraption was shoved directly under his nose.

"Good morning, Mr. Shacklebolt. We've been waiting to speak with you."

He stared down at it for a moment, feeling his eyes cross. "Erm—what exactly is that?" he asked politely of the man who stood in front of him. He now recognized him as the French liaison, another fellow Hogwarts graduate of French descent.

The French liaison whipped the object out from underneath his nose and held it out from Kingsley to examine. "It's a cell phone, like a telephone, but portable. We brought them because it's quite inconvenient that the Ministry doesn't have even one telephone line rigged up," the French man explained. He dropped the boxy object into Kingsley's hand and gestured around the room at the other consulate representatives, who all held out similar contraptions. "You should have a few of these in your Misuse of Muggle Artifacts collections."

Kingsley forced out a chuckle. "So you use these to communicate with the Muggles that you 'work for'?" he asked. The man nodded. "And somebody would like to speak to me using this machine?" He nodded again, looking the slightest bit amused. Kingsley sighed. "Who exactly would you like me to speak to?"

"The president."

* * *

**A/N: How is this going? Do you all like it so far? Reviews would make my day!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Two Shots in the Dark, Chapter 6**

_**Straight into the Hands of the Enemy**_

_...The Wizarding world now stands in a perilous situation, and as the Minister it is my duty and responsibility to protect—_

_As the Minister of Magic, I feel it is my duty and responsibility to protect the Wizarding world and keep the public informed. Fear not, for everything is perfectly normal, but—_

_I'm going to be honest with you, because that is what the public deserves to hear. Last week I met with the leaders of Muggle governments around the world to discuss impending security threats—_

Rufus Scrimgeour peered down at the last sentence he had written—the only sentence that had not yet been scratched out. Grumbling in frustration, he roughly crossed it out. The tip of his quill tore a hole, clear through his parchment. He could barely see by the dim gray light of the dawning sunrise that was seeping through his window, but he refused to get up to fix some breakfast until he had written at least the first sentence of his statement.

_I'm going to be honest with you, because that is what you, as the public, have been whining and moaning about for the past week—_

_I have come to the conclusion that it is necessary for the secrecy to be dropped, for the sake of everyone—_

_I have come to the conclusion that maybe Muggles aren't so useless after all—_

Cursing in aggravation, Scrimgeour crumpled up the parchment into a sad ball and tossed it into the waste bin. This was simply hopeless. It had been difficult enough for him to present the idea to his advisors, who, when push came to shove, were actually a bunch of well-educated, open-minded politicians who were just as desperate for a solution as he. So how was he to convince the ignorant masses of everyday people to do the same, when generations of unfounded bias against Muggles flowed through their very veins?

Scrimgeour snorted at his own thoughts. He couldn't have thought of this problem _before_ he volunteered himself to issue a statement to the public. No, as usual, at the time he had been too preoccupied with other things to think of the repercussions.

So typical: take care of it now, deal with it later. And now he would _really_ have to deal with it.

Scrimgeour really hated himself sometimes.

He had given up on his unwritten statement for the time being and was heading into the kitchen for a cup of tea when Kingsley came rushing through the door, looking harried. Immediately the Minister snapped to attention, all thoughts of the elusive statement gone.

"What is it?"

Kingsley collapsed onto one of the chairs next to the small kitchen table. He gestured for the Minister to pour him a cup of tea. Too concerned to be miffed about it, Scrimgeour obeyed.

"I've been screening 'calls' from Muggle governments all night," he grumbled, sipping his tea absently. He yelped softly and waggled his tongue out of his mouth as he realized that it was still too hot to drink. "The liaisons stormed ExComm's Floo fireplaces yesterday and demanded that I speak with their leaders through their portable telephones."

"Yes, yes, 'calls' about what?" Scrimgeour said.

"Security issues. I must say, Minister, that we should have seen this coming. Apparently there has been a large hike in Muggle freak accidents and natural disasters and 'flight delays'—whatever those are—and large lost business transactions in the last week since we met with them. Naturally, now that we've told them that some dangerous criminal is after them, they attribute these minor coincidences to his actions. They perceive him as a villain, only as they know how."

Scrimgeour groaned. He remembered with a strong sense of irony that he had thought of Wizarding folk as the problematic, ignorant masses a moment ago. But in doing so, he had forgotten about the Muggles.

"So what are they asking of us?" he asked.

"Asking?" Kingsley laughed grimly. "No, they're demanding. They want another World's Alliance meeting set up with you at once to discuss additional security measures. They're saying that if You-Know-Who is an evil crafted from our magic, then we must have the proper equipment to defend against him."

"There _is_ no way to defend Muggles from You-Know-Who," Scrimgeour cried. "They're _Muggles_! Even those who have magical powers are struggling to suppress his uprising, and they want us to—"

"We have no choice," Kingsley said shortly. "They are already questioning the motives of the Wizarding world, and quite frankly, we need their help to ensure that the panic that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named causes does not expose us to the Muggle world." He frowned. "Remember your History of Magic courses, Minister. The last time wizardry was almost discovered by the Muggles, 300 years ago, innocent lives were taken."

"Kingsley, you know we can't arm each Muggle with a wand." The Minister laughed as he imagined the sight.

"I trust that you'll find an appropriate solution in time for the World's Alliance meeting, sir," Kingsley said.

"We have magical alarm systems that could help," Scrimgeour mused aloud. "Certainly it would help us track You-Know-Who's movement, especially if he really is targeting the Muggles. But 120 countries times 1,000 alarm systems…" Scrimgeour balked. He looked at Kingsley in distress. "There's no way we can get enough for them all!"

Kingsley sipped his tea more carefully. "We can arrange that later, Minister. Meanwhile, I've got a Vidiportal arranged to the Wizengamot meeting room in five hours. The Muggles have already flown in throughout the night and are ready. I have told them that you are away on business, by the way."

"Five hours?" Scrimgeour cursed colorfully. "Why didn't you come here sooner?"

"I thought you needed your sleep, Minister," Kingsley said honestly. "Besides, I also didn't want to bother you if you were still working on your statement."

Scrimgeour thought back to the crumpled piece of parchment and winced. "Any good news?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

Kingsley laughed dryly again. "You've been away for less than 72 hours, and already the political commentators are forming conspiracy theories. Here is today's issue of the Prophet. Look at the column on page 8 next to the Quidditch standings. Somehow they got wind of your absence." Kingsley frowned, wondering how the news could have been leaked _out_ of the Ministry into the public so quickly. "The extremists are jumping to crazy conclusions, as usual. They say you want to rule the Wizarding world from afar, out of reach from the people with whom you'd normally share power. The public protests grow worse by the day, too, and now they complain not only about the unreliable news but also the Renegade Minister." He sighed. "Needless to say, your Bureau of Advisors is not happy about these new developments."

"I have a name now? I'm going to go down in history as the Renegade Minister of Magic?" Scrimgeour said in despair.

"Don't worry, the dependability of the Wizarding world's political commentary has declined as of late," Kingsley said in a comforting voice. "They're all just rooting around for someone to harp on."

"Well, we couldn't have expected anything less, I guess," Scrimgeour commented with resignation. He patted Kingsley on the shoulder. "If you'd like to sleep here and get some rest, there is a spare cot in the bedroom," he said kindly. "As long as someone will activate the portal there at the correct time, I will take care of the Muggles."

Kingsley finished his tea and started to rise. "Oh, one more thing," he said.

"Yes?"

"There was nothing in Malfoy's office."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"Nothing."

* * *

There was clamor in the meeting room of the World's Alliance once more.

"When I join an alliance on the behalf of my country, I expect that—"

"You've told us about the criminal mastermind Lord Voldemort and the crimes he has committed, but never have you—"

"—need stronger defenses—"

"—don't have a clear understanding of exactly how—"

"—what use is warning when—?"

"Quiet, please!" Scrimgeour commanded from his seat at his desk in his undisclosed location. The Vidiportal opening swirled a translucent and slightly nauseating green color through the open air in front of him. He could clearly see the faces of the Muggle leaders in the images projected from the portal, as if they were sitting right in front of him. From the other end of the portal, which was set up above the central podium in the giant meeting hall, the leaders could undoubtedly see his face as well.

He looked through the portal to his personal clerk who sat at a table directly below him, taking notes with a Quick-Quotes Quill. "Has the translation spell activated?" he hissed as the Muggles began to quiet down.

The clerk nodded, and nervously Scrimgeour cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the crowd.

"I have been told that you have called this conference to discuss further security measures for your countries against You-Know-Who," Scrimgeour said, trying his best to look authoritative despite the fact that he had spent the last five hours hurriedly hashing out plans of further protection to appease the Muggles.

Before the leaders could all burst into protest again, Scrimgeour held his hand up for silence. "Let me assure you that while I deeply sympathize with the difficulties that you have encountered over the last week, these minor occurrences were simply coincidental. Accidental. Interfering with the routines of daily Muggle life does not hold enough satisfaction for You-Know-Who."

"How do you even know what gives him satisfaction?" a king asked. "Your government doesn't even associate with him, does it?"

"His previous patterns of behavior indicate that he prefers crimes that cause others direct pain and chaos. One of his personal favorites is the Cruciatus Curse, or the spell that causes torture of unimaginable pain."

"That was the one with all the screaming, right?" someone asked quietly.

"Yes, it was," Scrimgeour said grimly. "So comparatively, I doubt he would find enjoyment in switching 'airplane' flight schedules around. More likely that it was just human error." He chuckled wearily. "When us magical folk talk about flight schedules, we're talking about owls," he quipped.

The Muggles stared at him, unable to decide whether to smile or frown at the joke. It was just another reminder to them of how different these two worlds were, and how ignorant they had been in being kept in the dark for so long.

Finally a leader in the back spoke. "So you're saying that he prefers to use magical weapons?"

"Yes, but nearly the only necessary magical weapon is the wand."

"There must be a form of defensive magic that can protect us from these harmful magical spells as well, right?"

"Well, yes and no," Scrimgeour replied, looking slightly ill at ease. "The Unforgivables, which are the Imperius, Cruciatus, and Killing Curses, are unstoppable if there is enough willpower behind the casting of the spell. Normally the use of one would send the perpetrator immediately to prison. However, You-Know-Who and his followers use these curses without restraint. Some of them are behind bars, but others have yet to be apprehended.

"Aside from these Unforgiveable Curses, there are ways to counter-attack other spells. However, to perform those requires that you not only possess a wand, but also an aptitude for magic."

"So we can all perform magic?" a young prince asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately not," Scrimgeour said. "That would make my job much easier. I have decided that the wisest and most effective method for our situation would be to employ the use of magical alarm systems. They are manufactured right in London by the Wizarding corporation Erickson & Co., or ErickCorp. If you would like to use these alarms, I will be ordering them and distributing them to you all as I see fit."

"What do you mean, 'as you see fit'?" cried a terrified-looking Prime Minister. "Why do some countries deserve more protection than other?" She was met with calls of assent from different sides of the room.

Scrimgeour sighed and repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "I am trying to distribute them as evenly as possible," he explained, "by _gross population_. If your country does not have as many Muggles—I mean, people—living there as your neighboring country, I must give you fewer alarms. Does that sound reasonably fair to everyone?"

This time, the Muggles nodded. "So how exactly do these alarms work, then?"

"They are packaged as a set of small stones that cover a given area, roughly a square kilometer at most, in a magically-sensitive net," Scrimgeour explained. "If you place the stones around the perimeter of a building, for example, that building will be protected once you activate the alarm. Along with the pouch of stones and the activator, there is a tracer. The tracer monitors all magical activity that occurs within your net-covered area, and gives information about the nature of the spell as well as whether or not it was completed successfully. All of your tracers will be handled by the Ministry. Therefore, we will find out immediately if there is destructive magical activity where there should be none."

"But wait," another leader interjected, "how is that useful at all? The alarm will only inform the tracer _after_ the spell has been cast. By the time you find out, Lord Voldemort could have killed someone already."

"That's right," a queen agreed. "Are there any magical nets that dampen the effects of magic, or prohibit the use of magic at all?"

Scrimgeour shook his head. "We don't manufacture that sort of product in the Wizarding world. What use is there for it? The use of magic is essential in our daily lives. There is no situation in which prohibiting the use of it would benefit us.

"Besides, these alarm systems are useful because they let us at the Ministry know so that we can dispatch Aurors—magical police—there to take care of the problem. It is possible that one or two spells may be cast before we can act, but isn't that better than a massacre?"

The Muggles were silent for a moment as they thought.

"As of now, I have rationed out roughly one alarm system per every 500,000 people in each country. Now that does _not_ mean that you are to waste this valuable resource on individual citizens. You-Know-Who will not want to hurt a small number of Muggles—people—while running a high risk of getting caught." Scrimgeour leaned his elbows on the top of his desk, moving closer toward the opening of the portal. "Because orders are limited, please carefully consider alarms in places such as national government offices, intelligence agencies, economic centers, and high-security prisons. Once I give them to you, they are your responsibility. The Ministry holds responsibility only for the tracers."

He looked around at everyone in the conference hall. "Does everyone understand? Are there no further questions or objections?"

Several leaders opened their mouths to speak, but thought better of it when Scrimgeour all but glared outright at them. This distraction had come at a terrible time, when every minute of his attention needed to be focused on writing his statement. He would need to take care of this immediately.

"Good," Scrimgeour said. "We are adjourned."

As he began to cast the spells that would close the portal, Kingsley re-entered the room, a great deal calmer after his nap than he had been that morning.

"How did it go?" he asked the Minister, who scrubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Wonderful. It is all decided. We will allot them all one magical alarm for every 500,000 inhabitants, and keep the tracers at the Ministry."

Kingsley frowned. "And where will Regulation and Control—or even the whole Department of Law Enforcement, for that matter—find enough people to monitor all of those tracers?" he asked.

Scrimgeour sighed gustily. "It won't be too difficult, just shuffle people around and transfer them from other departments, hire new workers, you know, the usual. Meanwhile, the most important thing is to order those alarms."

"I'm on it," Kingsley announced cheerfully, turning around to head back out the door. "You only have two days left, so don't forget to keep working on that statement!"

"_I will!_" Scrimgeour exclaimed at Kingsley's retreating back, throwing his hands in the air. "I WILL!"

* * *

"Mister Erickson, sir, do you have a moment?" Matthias Erickson's secretary stuck her head into his office. Boxes were strewn all around the room, and drawers hung half-open and nearly-empty off of his desk. The young executive had been packing.

Erickson raised an eyebrow. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking, Shirley?" he snapped. "I really do not have a moment to spare, but since you have already entered I had might as well listen to you, so please, do continue."

Shirley the secretary recoiled slightly at the panicked venom in her boss's voice. Matthias Erickson had always been a generally good-natured and fair man, but as of late he had been ill-disposed and short-tempered. He rarely ever came to the office anymore, but every time he was in he seemed to get more and more stressed. Shirley was about to suggest taking a vacation, but Erickson glared at her so she decided against it.

"I've just received an inter-department memo for you," she told him.

Erickson glanced around the room and absently picked up a few things and moved them around before answering. "Uh…Is it important? I'm busy here," he said quickly. He met Shirley's eyes and held them, trying to prevent her from looking around at the state of the room too closely.

"Yes, or I wouldn't have bothered you about it, sir. You know about the company policy, that an order larger than a hundred alarms to anyone other than our normal distributors must be authorized by you."

Now Erickson stopped fiddling with the things on his desk. "An order larger than a hundred?" he asked curiously. "How many?"

Shirley cleared her throat and shuffled her feet. "Ten thousand," she said quietly.

"Ten thousand? An order for _ten thousand?!_" Erickson's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Racing around his desk, he ran to the doorway in which she stood and held his hand out for the memo. "Let me see that. It must be a mistake."

"No, no mistake," Shirley said as she handed the memo over.

Impatiently he snatched it out of her hand. "So who placed this order for ten thousand alarms?" he mused to himself softly as he unfolded the memo.

_By order of the Ministry of Magic…_

Erickson gasped and his heart began to pound. Abandoning the memo to Shirley, he cast about the messy room for an empty piece of parchment, his brain racing.

"Sir? What's wrong?"

Erickson glanced up in aggravation. "Nothing, absolutely nothing. I approve the filling of that order. You are dismissed, Shirley. I need to send an urgent private Owl."

"But wait, sir, just one more thing," Shirley said, just now examining the rumpled room uncertainly. "Are you planning on moving offices again? I don't think we've discussed this with any of the other departments, and perhaps I could give some assistance to you…"

"I'm fine!" Erickson snapped, finally securing a piece of paper and a quill. He didn't deign to look at his secretary again, but his tone was thunderous and Shirley left his office quickly, frowning in confusion.

_Lucius—_

_I have news. I have just received an order request from the Ministry for ten thousand alarms. Your guess is as good as mine for where they will use them. I have been preparing for this moment and am ready to move as soon as I am needed. I hope to be of use to our Lord soon. It is beginning._

_—Matthias Erickson_

_CEO, ErickCorp_

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think? Did you like it? Please leave me some feedback. I'd really appreciate it! :)**


End file.
